


Einherjar

by ClockworkCourier



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Hand Jobs, Hate to Love, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Canon, Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 19:12:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7653409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockworkCourier/pseuds/ClockworkCourier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Einherjar - literally 'those who fight alone' - are the heroes who have died with great bravery on the battle fields. These heroes are prepared in Valhalla for the oncoming battle of Ragnarok. During the day they train and fight, until they cut each other to pieces. At night they feast at Odin's side and their wounds are miraculously healed."</p><p>Jack and Gabe meet in the land of the midnight sun, with an ongoing battle they need to resolve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Einherjar

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic mostly out of spite because my phone attempted to destroy itself when I updated it. In frothing rage, I cranked out about 10,000 words of this fic, and then polished the rest off in the last few days. So yes, rage fic. It was a good thing.
> 
> Not a whole lot more to say on that front. It's pre-canon, like the tags say. Some speeches, some UN stuff, lots of headcanon. Lots of angsty dads tussling around and not talking out their feelings like they should have. And then they do, and life's great. Also, I should have written more porn. But that's what sequels are for, I guess?
> 
> And Reykjavik is awesome.

Reykjavik still has a distinct chill in the air, even in August. It reminds Jack of Indiana in late fall, on the seasonal cusp when the colors of the trees give way to dark dormancy and mornings are marked with frost and exhales of mist. But Reykjavik is still in the swing of late summer, and the only sign of it that Jack can recognize is the fact that the sun just doesn’t seem to go down so much as it just hangs low on the horizon, dips below it, and comes back up an hour later. It’s odd to watch, no matter how many times he’s seen it, and it also gives him a little grief because the talks going on at Reykjavik are the only thing enabling him to see this phenomena at a ridiculous hour.  
  
It’s one of the more recent diplomatic events created after Overwatch’s inception, optimistically named the Aurora Peace Summit. The public image of it is one of a meeting of leaders of the world’s nations and organizations, more casual than a UN meeting and more atmospherically similar to something like an environmental conference to discuss pollution reduction crossed with a celebrity gala.   
  
For Overwatch, it’s a twofold thing; Overwatch can show its best public face before all the cameras and video feeds, and it can gain information from the other guests. Or, in a more honestly phrased manner, Overwatch gets to show off and Blackwatch gets to listen in.   
  
Jack’s hyper aware of both intentions, since they’re nothing new. He’s been strike commander for a decade now, and aside from his original military approach, he’s learned over the years that he has to be as charismatic as a socialite in order to get things done, properly or not. He’s had to forsake his own boundless honesty, has had to learn to lie through his teeth without ever being suspect, and has had to keep all of Overwatch’s dirty secrets in the back of his mind during the course of every negotiation and meeting. He’s shaken hands with presidents, prime ministers, dictators, ambassadors, politicians, and celebrities, and has had to smile through each interaction no matter his opinion of the person on the other side. So the Aurora Peace Summit should actually mean very little to him, being just another show to run through.   
  
It’s not. At least, not this time.   
  
What makes this Summit so different from all the other ones is that Gabriel Reyes is here as a guest. Overwatch put its best and brightest on the floor for the occasion, since it’s now quickly becoming one of the most anticipated political, economical, and social events of the year. It’s got an enviable red carpet roster, which means more attention than what’s typical. And there’s no secrets about who the fan favorites are, so to speak. Jack believes the idea behind Overwatch’s golden lineup is the amount of action figures on kids’ shelves or the ones people watch the most on their screens. Overwatch is more than aware of the statistics, and so the lineup is made up of the most beloved members.   
  
It’s Jack, of course, and naturally, Ana right beside him. Gabrielle Adawe is one of the keynote speakers for the event, which only seems right. Then there’s Reinhardt and Torbjörn. There’s a few scientists as well, each representing a separate branch of Overwatch’s interests. A few other agents are present, covering a wide variety of ages and backgrounds, like a small-scale United Nations. And then there’s Gabe, who has come across like the dark horse of the entire affair.   
  
The public doesn’t know much about Blackwatch. Most of it is in the form of conspiracies, most of which are easily explained away. There’s certainly some well-founded rumors about Overwatch having a more underhanded, covert division, but there’s no evidence pointing out Gabe being the head of it. Therefore, he’s the only one with a more enigmatic background, aside from the information that’s readily available. They know he’s a military hero and the original leader of Overwatch, that he and Jack served together, and that the badges on his dress uniform aren’t just for show. He’s from a small neighborhood from Los Angeles, and graduated high school with average grades before proving himself spectacularly in his military career. But beyond those facts, Gabe is a mystery to these people. And what’s picked at the public’s imagination even further is that he seems to like it that way.   
  
To Jack, though, Gabe’s presence at the Summit is both nerve-wracking and frustrating. Worse yet is that Jack can’t figure out why he feels that way. It isn’t that Gabe is uncouth or boorish in any way. He adapts well to even the most ritzy of black tie affairs, since he’s been to just about as many as Jack has. They’ve done countless events together, diligently pretending that there is a patch in the rift between them that formed when Jack was promoted. Gabe is excellent and faking civility, and Jack is just as practiced at being easygoing around Gabe even when the situation is at its most tense.   
  
But there’s something different at the Summit. Jack can’t tell if it’s the strange atmosphere of the whole thing, with the unsetting sun and the cold of an Icelandic summer, or the guest list filled with more millionaires and billionaires and people with power than Jack has ever seen. It might be the political environment as well. He’s not sure, and he’s no closer to putting his finger on it. All he knows is that suddenly, seeing Gabe nearby makes Jack unreasonably nervous.   
  
Something foreboding is in the air, along with the promise of an early winter.   
  
\---   
  
The Aurora Peace Summit starts with a charity gala at one of Iceland’s newest and sleekest hotels, benefitting an international children’s aid organization sponsored by the UN. Jack is set to be one of the speakers representing Overwatch, along with Ana and Gabrielle. Jack has his speech prepared on his holopad, and he’s read and reread it countless times since the flight to Iceland. He’s checked it over with Ana a few times for good measure (to the point when she just rolled her eyes, drank her coffee with methodical slowness, and finally told him that it was fine and that he needed to shut up). The residual buzz of his nerves is still present, feeling like static deep in his belly when one of the hosts seats him at a table near the stage of the ballroom.   
  
Ana is to his right, dressed in a deep blue silk gown with her hair pulled into a long braid that is pinned like a crown around her head. The only accessories she’s allowed herself are a pair of small diamond earrings, a golden bangle on her wrist, and a silver pin in her hair fashioned to look like a stylized leaf. Jack is close enough with her to know that the bracelet is a gift from Fareeha, technically purchased by Fareeha’s live-in au pair at her insistence. Fareeha is back in Zurich for the time, and Jack knows how much Ana misses her daughter. He sees this manifest in her occasionally running her fingers over the metal of the bracelet, her eyes cast downward.   
  
Gabe is to Jack’s left, although the distance Gabe puts between their chairs feels like a mile. Gabe is in his dress uniform, pressed to sartorial crispness and looking brand new. His mustache and beard are cleanly trimmed, and his hair is freshly shaven. He sits perfectly upright, spine militarily straight, eyes focused directly on the stage like he’s waiting at attention. He hasn’t spared so much of a glance at Jack or Ana, which comes as a surprising sting to Jack.   
  
Jack occupies the time with taking in the scenery of the ballroom and all of its guests. The room is lit with an enormous cascading angular chandelier that reminds Jack of shards of ice. It glows a cool white-blue, the same as the running lights around the room’s circumference. The floor is black tile the color of volcanic stone, and the walls are constructed of large white tiles interspersed with black ones. Jack is just that much in need of distraction that he notices the black tiles form a loosely-connected mural depicting mountains and bays. One wall has a loose image of a ship running up on a shore. He focuses on that as much as he can to occupy his time, and then he changes his focus to the music and the chatter that fills the rest of the room. It’s a typical classical playlist, full of violins and piano, and nothing he immediately recognizes.   
  
As more guests file into the room, Jack starts to keep a close eye on them. He sees the Spanish ambassador and his wife enter, trailed closely by the head of ImaGenetics, the biotech giant, and an Omnic representative. There’s a representative for the Vishkar Corporation, wearing the telltale white and blue color scheme. And then the prime minister of Malta, followed by a set of young twin girls who trail closely behind her. Jack keeps track of them, challenging himself to remember names and details. It passes the time a bit better, but he still feels like Gabe is the elephant of this particular ballroom, and Jack finds his attention repeatedly getting reeled in by the man.   
  
Fortunately, Jack doesn’t have to wait long for another distraction. Ana draws him in with a hand on his arm, her other hand on a crystal flute of champagne. “Jack?” she says, her low voice barely audible over the buzz of chatter and the music. “Is everything alright?”   
  
Ana would be the one to notice. Sniper or not, she’s well-attuned to his moods out of sheer practice. In their meetings, they read each other with minimal effort. Ana knows what to look for in him, no matter how much he tries to hide it.   
  
Jack busies himself with his own champagne, pretending to have great interest in the bubbles of carbonation rolling up the sides of the glass. He doesn’t drink it, though, and instead casts his glance back around the ballroom in an attempt to find an excuse. “Just taking it all in,” he says, rather lamely.   
  
Clearly, Ana isn’t impressed. But she’s also the most intuitive person Jack has ever met, and all she needs to do is spare a look at Gabe to know. Then, she tilts her head down, which Jack interprets as a nod of understanding. There’s also a question in her expression, one that might sound more like, _You’re telling me later, no excuses._ He tilts his head back at her in acquiescence, and finally takes a sip of his drink.   
  
Alcohol isn’t going to help his nerves. Ever since his involvement with the SEP, alcohol does nothing for him. If he drinks, it’s for the ceremony of it and the social aspect. He notices that Gabe hasn’t touched his glass at all, more than likely for the same reason.   
  
Jack wants to say something to Gabe. He wants to say something even as mundane as asking about Gabe’s opinion of the room, or the guests, or Iceland in general. He wants to ask if Gabe’s enjoyed their trip so far, or if he’s dreading the talks as much as Jack is. Jack wants to talk about all the boring, necessary things just to fill the space between them, but he can’t summon so much as a word, and it feels like a deep wound is being reopened deep inside of his gut at the thought.   
  
It shouldn’t be like this. It should never have _been_ like this.   
  
His attention is blessedly diverted again by Reinhardt’s entrance into the ballroom, which comes with a predictable deep, loud laugh that temporarily gets everyone’s attention. Jack turns in time to see Reinhardt slap some poor, hapless man on the back, nearly knocking him over into a punch bowl. Reinhardt laughs again, says something in what sounds like garbled French, and then walks in a heavy, confident gait over to Jack’s table. Jack gets to his feet immediately, just in time to get swept up in a bone-crushing one-armed hug, even though they just saw each other on the plane only forty-eight hours ago.   
  
“Ah, Jack! Good to see you again!” Reinhardt bellows, thankfully letting Jack go before they can all collectively see how much pressure a super soldier’s ribs can take. Then, Reinhardt’s attention is on Ana, and it’s either good fortune or Reinhardt gaining enough sense that he doesn’t attempt to embrace her as well. Instead, he just reaches across the table and takes one of her hands in his, bowing his head low to kiss the back of her hand. “And a pleasure as always, Miss Amari!”   
  
Ana gives Reinhardt an honest, open smile. “You as well. Are you enjoying the trip so far?”   
  
“ _Ja!_ I had the pleasure of enjoying the Blue Lagoon this morning,” Reinhardt announces to their table, and to the two tables on either side of theirs. “Very restorative! Makes my skin feel like a baby’s.” He shows this off by rolling up one sleeve to just above his wrist and pinching his skin. “You want to feel?”   
  
“Ah, no, thank you.”   
  
“Suit yourself!” Then, his attention is on Gabe, who just offers Reinhardt a much watered down version of Ana’s smile. “Gabriel! How are you, my friend?”   
  
Jack takes the opportunity as an excuse to look at Gabe directly for the first time since they’ve arrived. Gabe’s expression is strained, and it’s the first time that Jack notices the tight wrinkles forming at the corners of Gabe’s eyes. There are deep lines around his nose and mouth, making him look like he’s perpetually grimacing. Still, Gabe tries his best to smile at Reinhardt, dutifully holding out his hand to shake.   
  
“Fine. Good to see you,” Gabe says. To his credit, he only winces a little when Reinhardt nearly crushes his hand.   
  
“Ah, _gut!_ ” Reinhardt bellows before finally taking a seat directly across from Jack. He knocks back his entire flute of champagne in one great swallow, and puts the glass down with an irritated sigh. “They have nothing stronger?”   
  
“Open bar over there, Wilhelm,” Ana says, gesturing with her thumb over her shoulder.   
  
Reinhardt’s eyes light up and he’s back on his feet, bounding over to the bar like a man possessed. “ _Ausgezeichnet_ _!_ ”   
  
Once he’s gone, or at least a distance away, Ana shakes her head and sighs. “Well, at least he’s in a good mood,” she says.   
  
Jack tries to keep his attention on Reinhardt until he can’t anymore, and then he turns it to his holopad, set on the tablecloth with his speech glowing on the screen. The words don’t seem to mean anything now, as he’s read them so many times.   
  
But his mind goes elsewhere when he looks at it again. He wonders what Gabe will think of his speech, or if he’ll care at all. It’s the typical rallying speech for environmental consideration and global outreach for the betterment of humankind, and how positive of an impact that Overwatch has had on the world since its creation. It will outline some of the programs currently operating, as well as the ones being planned, with credit to the proper people and spaces of silence for applause. He’s read multiple versions of the same speech at different events, and each with the same expectations. Applause, knowing glances, chins tipped up in pride, and short words of congratulations when the speeches for the evening conclude.   
  
The only one he cares about tonight is Gabe, and he can’t seem to get his mind off the man for the life of him. Blackwatch isn’t mentioned in his speech, or Ana’s. Gabriel isn’t thanked or considered, and Jack feels his stomach churn at the thought. He takes his holopad in hand and scrolls down to his thank-yous, quickly typing in an edit while Ana looks at him in suspicion. Thankfully, she doesn’t say anything.   
  
Jack doesn’t know what it will do, as Gabe is still maintaining that perfect stony silence, but it’s a step in the right direction, he thinks.   
  
Reinhardt sits back down with a shot glass filled to the brim with a light green liquid just as the lights of the ballroom finally dim. The only thing Reinhardt does is lean close to Jack with a knowing grin. “Brennivin,” he says, tapping the edge of the glass. “The Icelanders call it the ‘black death’. You want to try? It may even get you a bit tipsy.”   
  
“No, thanks,” Jack whispers back, but he smiles regardless.   
  
The lights on the stage brighten and an older woman steps onto the stage, dressed in a shimmering silver gown that catches the light thousands of ways with each step. Her bone-white hair is draped in a long braid over her shoulder, the tail of it swaying as she walks. She steps up to the podium with a round of applause at her entrance, and the smile she offers is a practiced one. “Good evening to all,” she says, her voice curling with a soft accent. “My name is Lilja Eysteinsdottir, and I am proud to be the president of the Aurora Summit Committee and the master of ceremonies for tonight’s event.” Another round of applause, and Lilja gives the room her best gracious smile. When it quiets, she continues, “As many of you may know, this event has been the culmination of several years of hard work and passion. It is a representation of the world’s desire to maintain peace among all nations, especially in the wake of tragedy and warfare. At seeing all those in the crowd, representing nations and organizations, I am uplifted by the thought that we are collectively working toward a better future. And so, I thank those who have organized this event for all their diligence and sacrifice, as much as I thank those who took the time to be here.”   
  
More applause, and the rest of the speech is more of the same. Jack spares a glance around and sees the pale blue glow of auto-translators in the ears of some of the guests. He also spots some security personnel lingering near every door. The Summit is well-guarded, and there is no doubt in Jack’s mind that Gabe has had a hand in it as well. Blackwatch may not be outright represented, but its presence can be felt.   
  
Lilja runs through the rest of her speech, thanking specific people, reiterating that the Summit is a symbol of hope and peace and community, and concludes by introducing the next speaker. After that, it’s the typical gauntlet of guests with lofty, eloquent speeches about peace and harmony and everything else that has been a talking point since the Omnic Crisis. Gabrielle eventually stepping up to the podium. She still looks young and excitable, despite the decade that they’ve known each other and the stresses that it’s come and gone with. Her powder-blue gown shimmers like silk under the spotlight, and Jack thinks to himself that, really, she hasn’t aged a day.   
  
“Good evening,” she greets, smiling far more naturally than Lilja. “As Miss Eysteinsdottir said, I am Gabrielle Adawe, former Under-Secretary-General of the United Nations. As of last year, I formally retired from my position in order to further invest time in Overwatch, the creation of which I consider to be the highlight of my UN career. I’m pleased to recognize many friends in the audience tonight, Omnics and humans alike, some old, some new, and I am even more pleased to see these friends and others take such an active role in the pursuit of peace in our world. One of my chief goals during my career was to create this peace in the wake of war, and to maintain it after the conclusion. To see so many people continuing that work is truly a gift to me.”   
  
The rest of her speech is full of the same pleased grins and concise language. Beside Jack, he hears Gabriel shift until his arms are crossed over his chest.   
  
There’s some bad blood there, Jack knows. He can almost feel the tension rippling off of Gabe as Gabrielle does a quick outline of Overwatch’s history and a summarized version of its intentions and goals. They don’t hate each other, exactly. That’s never been the case. In fact, up until a point, the two of them got along very well. It was after the actual official formation of Overwatch as a recognized group rather than a task force that something started to become rotten between them. Gabe has never outright said as much, but it wasn’t hard to pick up on even back then. It all manifested in the sharp glances and passive-aggressive statements, more against Gabrielle than vice versa.   
  
Then again, it’s no different than what has come to pass between Jack and Gabriel, and it makes Jack think that maybe, aside from choice people within Blackwatch and a very select few in Overwatch, Gabe doesn’t like most of the people he knows.   
  
The thought almost makes Jack cringe, especially when he thinks of what he’s just added to his speech. He and Gabe haven’t been precisely friendly for years now, and it’s with a sense of something like heavy dread that Jack thinks that maybe, they haven’t even been _friends._ He’s sort of tricked himself into thinking their friendship never stopped so much as it hit a rough patch. But he thinks now on how they’ve been acting, how professional Gabe has taken to sounding when he’s not ignoring Jack entirely. Every word of his is clipped and forced, like it’s a chore to talk to Jack at all. The way he’s angled his body away from Jack when they’re sharing space, the way it seems like he can’t wait to leave that space as soon as he gets the option, the way he avoids having to talk to Jack if he can help it, or how he sends other people to talk to him so Gabe doesn’t have to.   
  
_That’s not a rough patch,_ Jack thinks, and it stings worse than it ever has. He hates that he’s thinking about it now, just minutes away from stepping up to the podium and addressing some of the most powerful people in the world; dignitaries, CEOs, and the like, and all Jack can think about is Gabe.   
  
He doesn’t even know if this is something that can be fixed. This has been the culmination of years worth of continual damage, most of it going completely unnoticed to Jack.   
  
“And now, I’d like to call up a very close friend of mine, Overwatch’s strike commander, Jack Morrison,” Gabrielle says, slicing into Jack’s reverie and jerking him out of it like a whiplash.   
  
The room breaks into applause again, and even though Jack throws on his public speaking smile at a second’s notice, he feels like it falters when he sees Gabe still as stone beside him. It’s only with a short, heated glare from Ana that Gabe does anything at all. He gives two short claps, but he resolutely doesn’t make eye contact.   
  
Jack takes his holopad up with him, going up the short set of stairs and crossing the stage to continual applause. Gabrielle embraces him and presses a kiss to his cheek, the same way she’s greeted him for years. He hugs her back, and pulls away so for the space of a breath, they look at each other. All it takes is that short amount of time for her to realize something is wrong, and he only sees her smile twitch before she puts one hand up on his arm. “It’ll be fine,” she whispers. And then she’s gone.   
  
It’s the same dance he’s stepped through hundreds of times. Jack goes up to the podium, not even squinting against the harsh spotlight. He knows how he appears to these people; crisp military dress blues, awards and honors pinned to his jacket in a myriad of colors, the scars on his face unconcealed as if he wears those like honors as well. He still holds himself like a soldier, back straight and feet a shoulder-width apart, head held up high.   
  
The holopad flickers as he turns it on, his speech scrolling slow in front of him as he reads it when the applause concludes. “Thank you, Gabrielle,” he says, immediately breaking into his best, unfaltering smile. “And thank you to everyone in attendance this evening. I have the honor today of being able to recognize and address many friends and allies in this room. All of us are united in our desire to pursue a common cause -- that of peace. This year, we have formally exited a decade scarred and defined by war, and we now enter one with the capability of being defined by the unity we demonstrate today. We can define this decade with empathy, understanding, and a sense of global togetherness; all things that Overwatch has been dedicated to pursuing and achieving.”   
  
Even through the glare of the lights, Jack can see their attention is rapt. Even Gabe watches him, and although Jack walks his way through his speech with practiced grace of a professional, he can’t help but feel that same heaviness in his core at the thought.   
  
“Tonight, I have the unparalleled honor of expressing my gratitude towards the people who have been so pivotal in helping to achieve what once seemed to be a distant dream,” he says. “Before I do that, however, I must also take the time to expand further on what Gabrielle said.”   
  
In almost every speech he’s made since his promotion, he’s thought nothing of the exuberant praise for Overwatch. It’s only natural to play it up, to bring it into the best light possible. His use of positive adjectives is formidable, definitely. But now, standing on the stage in Reykjavik, it feels _wrong_ . Because as much as anyone knows, everything he says is going to be the truth. They will take his word as law because they don’t know any better. But there are people like Ana, people like Gabe. There are people who know what goes on beneath the surface, things that Jack will never, _ever_ bring himself to mention. He will not talk about the missions that go on behind the scenes, the orders he’s had to give in the name of coercion and interrogation. It’s made him feel awful in the past, sometimes to the point of tears, but it’s never made him feel like _this_ ; like all of his words have a new hollowness to them.   
  
Still, he speaks. He speaks because he has to, because the world is watching him right now and waiting for his words.   
  
Because Gabe is still sitting there, eyes fierce and burning.   
  
“When Overwatch began during the Omnic Crisis, there were no lack of moments when people believed it was too lofty of a goal,” Jack says. He hates this voice he’s using, sounding so sure of himself and so positive, like the world is still good and everything is going to be fine. “We were caught in a volatile moment in history, one that would be looked back upon with consideration and speculation and, undoubtedly, criticism. I remember Gabrielle asking me if we had done all that we could do, and I told her that the only thing standing between us and success was asking that question at all. There was _always_ more that we could do, always a limit to push and a bar to raise. I still believe to this day that one of the core reasons that Overwatch succeeded at all was that because we did not accept the status quo. We could not continue operating in the same way we always had. Boundaries would definitely be tested. In the end, we did not just _test_ the boundaries. We _destroyed_ them, and set new ones. And to this, I owe our accomplishments; for the sacrifices that were made, more than anything.”   
  
He keeps looking at Gabe. The lights’ glare makes it difficult to see any fine details of his face, but Gabe is locked onto him like Jack is a target, and he unflinchingly stares back.   
  
And that’s when Jack knows that something has to change.   
  
His voice falls short, and there’s a gap of a moment where he looks down at the pre-written words on the holopad, all prepared with every word of eloquent, flowery language he knows that will kiss up to the proper people and approach everything with the sort of optimistic neutrality that won’t get a rise out of anyone. But that’s what Jack has been doing for ten years, with all his speeches being pre-approved and every word that comes out of his mouth written script-perfect to please everyone.   
  
Tonight, though, it has to be different. He can’t stand on this precipice and look at Gabe and think that this is all _is he or isn’t he_. They are one or the other, and Jack cannot stand in the middle and wonder if he could do something different. If he continues with his speech as it’s written, he’ll just wake up tomorrow morning and think about what might have happened if he did something else. But that doesn’t work. It never has. Jack didn’t get to where he is by approaching things gently.   
  
So he summons that half-buried part of himself, the section of his being that seems to just be sticking up out of the dirt like a long lost relic. It’s the one that fought for everything, to make it through basic training, to get farther than that, to achieve and to succeed no matter how much blood, sweat, and tears were spilled. Before he made pretty speeches and pleased crowds, he was a soldier first. He _is_ a soldier now, and he’s standing on the ground of warriors before him. In the corner of his eye, he sees the disjointed mural of the ship, and he channels it, breaking through the waves in pursuit of something greater.   
  
He reaches up and turns off the holopad.   
  
Ana shifts in her seat, knowing precisely what he’s done. Gabe doesn’t move. And it’s fine by Jack, just as much as he’s ready for any reaction from these people; from Gabrielle to the politicians dotting the room.   
  
“And I think it’s important to mention sacrifices,” Jack says, keeping his eyes on the crowd. He feels something lighter than air in his chest, like his heart is restarting itself, like his lungs won’t stop filling, like his blood is running faster than it ever has. “Just as much as it’s important to thank those who have made them. We at Overwatch know and understand the true impact of war. We were created by it, in more ways than one. It was through the Omnic Crisis that our idea took shape at all, and we became a key figure in ending the Crisis in its entirety. When war is being waged, peace cannot purely be achieved without a battle. Overwatch was a peacekeeping organization, yes. But we kept peace not only through negotiation and understanding. We _fought_. We went into war zones and did what was needed of us as soldiers.”   
  
It’s not what many of the people in the room want to hear. They don’t want the gory details, or the thought of war at all. But the Peace Summit wouldn’t exist without an end to the war, and if they don’t remember the details, then history is just doomed to repeat itself. And in the most forefront part of Jack’s mind, he remembers that many of the same people were the ones who didn’t want to see Gabe at the head of Overwatch. They wanted their pristine posterboy, golden-haired and fair-skinned and handsome with that sort of All-American look to him. Gabe wasn’t cosmetically fitting, even though he was more than qualified for the position.   
  
And Jack is going to remind them of what they lost in making that choice.   
  
“Tonight, it seems only fitting to honor someone who made more sacrifices than most,” Jack continues. He looks at Gabe for a moment, enough to see that he’s uncrossed his arms and has them resting on the table now. He’s leaning forward, interested; no longer neutral. “I want to honor a man who has made strides towards peace without every desiring praise for himself. He has stood beside me since before Overwatch’s inception, and he remains steadfast in his position, both as a soldier and as a friend. I want to personally honor and thank Gabriel Reyes for all he’s done, and for all he’s given in the name of peace, for his country, and for the world on a whole.”   
  
There’s a low murmur that goes through the crowd, and Jack sees a constellation of blue translator lights flickering in the darkness. He supposes it’s some small mercy that no spotlight focuses on Gabe, because he knows Gabe would hate that.   
  
Jack goes on, heedless to Gabrielle’s wide eyes and the question that is undoubtedly mounting within her, primed to ask or to intercede if she has to. “Gabriel Reyes very rarely gets the recognition that he deserves,” Jack says, and the perfect, charismatic leader voice gives way to a voice he hasn’t heard coming from himself in years. It’s the voice he used when they were still in the Army together, when they still had to stand at attention with perfect, approved posture, when Jack was only called ‘Morrison’ and Gabe was just ‘Reyes’. It seems like a lifetime ago, and then some, but Jack resurrects it in a few words.   
  
“What he has given to Overwatch in ten years is more than most could give in one lifetime. He has given his life to it, and does what some might call ‘behind the scenes’ work, although that would be a grave underestimation. His sacrifice has gone toward the peace that we celebrate at this Summit, to the point that I believe, without a doubt, that he embodies it and all it has come to mean. He has fought for it, shed his blood in the name of it, and has gone above and beyond the call of duty in order to maintain it throughout the world and closer to home. I have nothing but pride in the fact that I can say that I have served beside him for more than a decade, and I have seen his skills in the field and beyond it. Without him, Overwatch would not be what it is today. I would not be able to stand where I am now and say this, just as I would not be able to stand here in a moment of international peace. If we had not fought the battles that we had, if Gabe had not saved my life multiple times, I would not be standing here at all. So, if I may, I would ask that those in attendance today allow a moment to give their respect to this man, as an aforementioned embodiment of peace, and for all that he’s given in the name of it.”   
  
There is a steady silence after Jack speaks, until Ana is the first on her feet, clapping loudly. And then the room breaks into the loudest applause Jack has ever heard. It’s deafening, but Jack doesn’t care about that. All he sees is Gabe, still seated, staring up at Jack like he can’t hear the applause at all. Jack wishes more than anything he could see Gabe’s face in all its detail at that moment.   
  
Jack’s ‘thank you’ over the microphone goes unheard, and he steps off the stage, trading places with Lilja who just gives him a knowing smile, like she’s personally heard all the arguments inside of Jack’s head. And it’s with a sense of something like pride, or something warmer and better still that Lilja has to wait to speak because the applause hasn’t died down. Jack takes his seat between Ana and Gabe, and for the first time that night, Gabe is looking directly at him, his expression caught between something like astonishment and something like gratitude. But there’s something else, just hidden behind eyes that have been trained to conceal emotion.   
  
“Thanks,” is all Gabe says, but his voice is roughened.   
  
Over his shoulder, Ana smiles at both of them.   
  
\---   
  
Faxa Bay is a deep blackish-blue after the sun settles below the horizon for a short time, lending to the illusion that the galaxy of lights in Reykjavik just drops into a void. The only thing Jack can actually see from the balcony of his hotel room is the ghostly, hovering lights of sailboats in the distance, dozens of white and red stars hovering in the nothingness, swaying gently on unseen currents.   
  
The cool air feels good on his skin, coming off the bay and carrying the smell of saltwater with it. All of the lights in the room are turned off, letting Jack take in the full effect of the scenery. He sighs, leaning on the balcony railing, trying to trick his brain into taking the illusion at face value. Ever since his speech, his mind has been a riot of thought and debate. There wasn’t any time for anyone to do something more than congratulate him on his speech, or just to greet him as amiably as possible. Gabrielle, thankfully, hasn’t stopped by to speak to him yet, and she probably won’t until breakfast tomorrow morning. No one else has, for that matter, and for that, Jack’s oddly grateful.   
  
Except it’s done nothing for his nerves. They still jump and hiss like firecrackers, and his stomach feels like it’s in a perfect reproduction of the Gordion knot.   
  
Aside from thanking Jack, Gabe said nothing else after the speech. All throughout the rest of the evening, he just sat completely silent at Jack’s side. For some reason, that alone has played havoc with Jack’s mind for most of the night. It was a puzzle he wasn’t able to solve, no matter how he turned it. Therein lay the debate on if Gabe accepted the speech or not; if the two of them walked away from that room as friends, or if nothing had changed between them at all.   
  
He wishes that the void of the bay would just swallow him up, pulling him into cool, sea salt-scented emptiness, where none of this would matter anyway.   
  
And then there’s a quiet knock on his door, promptly jerking him out of the reverie. He blinks a few times, and anchors himself back into reality by focusing on the bobbing ghost lights of the boats in the distance before he finally pushes himself off the railing and towards the door. He expects it to be Ana, being as perceptive as she is. She’d know how much strength that took, and she would probably treat it with a shared cup of tea between them while he vented or she gave him words of advice.   
  
But then Jack opens the door, and he’s faced with Gabe instead.   
  
Gabe looks markedly different, having abandoned his dress uniform in favor of an old Army shirt and a pair of cargo shorts. He looks a decade younger, not just from his clothing choice, but the way there’s a marked hesitance on his face, like he’s as nervous as Jack is.   
  
“Hey,” Gabe says.   
  
“Hi,” Jack replies. There’s a long pause, filled with half-glances and weight being shifted from foot to foot, before Jack finally gets the presence of mind to stand aside. “Uh, wanna come in?” he offers, like they’ve just met.   
  
Gabe doesn’t do anything except grunt something unintelligible and nod before he skirts around Jack into the dark room. Jack closes the door behind them and flips on one of the lights, filling the room with white-blue mood lighting.   
  
It’s a well-decorated room, as Jack turned down the multi-room suite that was more like an apartment. Everything is black, white, or pale blue, all in modern construction. It’s spacious, wide, with plush carpets and wide windows facing the bay. There’s a small scale version of the ice shard chandelier hanging from the ceiling, glinting with pale, cool light.   
  
Gabe takes a seat on one of the couches in the living area, although he doesn’t look particularly comfortable. He hunches over, elbows on his knees, brow furrowed, like he wants to ask a question but he hasn’t quite worked himself up to do it yet.   
  
“Do you want anything?” Jack asks, gesturing over his shoulder to the kitchenette. “Water? Coffee?”   
  
“No. I, uh... Nah, thank you,” Gabe says, frowning hard.   
  
It’s going to be another tense silence, Jack predicts, so he sits down on the opposite end of the couch to wait it out. He doesn’t know how to ask what Gabe’s thinking, or what he came there for if not to discuss the speech. But that requires Gabe talking about it at all, and he looks more like he’s fighting with himself first.   
  
Icebreakers and small talk aren’t going to work. So, dutifully, Jack keeps waiting.   
  
Fortunately, he doesn’t have to wait long. Gabe grimaces, fidgets with his fingers once, twice, before he snaps up into a sitting position and glares at Jack like he’s about to go into a spitting rage at him. “What the hell was _that?_ ” he finally exclaims.   
  
Jack frowns, pulling his knees up to his chest in his corner. “What was what?” he returns. “It was a speech, Gabe.”   
  
“No, it _wasn’t_ . That wasn’t what was on your holopad,” Gabe snaps. Jack doesn’t know what Gabe was saving his patience up for, but it’s clear he’s losing what little he had. Gabe leans a little into Jack’s space, like he’s trying to challenge him to something Jack can’t figure out. “You threw your speech out the window for that, and I want to know _why._ ”   
  
“Why what? Was I not allowed to thank you?”   
  
“Seeing as you haven’t thanked me in years for anything, or, hell, even _mentioned_ me before, yeah, I’m a little confused, _Morrison_.” He says Jack’s last name like it’s something of a curse. Jack gets the inkling in the back of his mind that in Blackwatch, it might just be. But he’s also struck with the impersonality of it, like Gabe’s trying to verbally keep a distance between them.   
  
And right now, Jack’s not having it.   
  
His feet are back on the ground, and he leans forward in turn so that all that rests between them is a couch cushion. He would just have to move one seat over and they would be nose to nose. If Gabe is going to challenge him, then he’ll return the favor.   
  
“You really want to know, _Reyes?_ ” Jack retorts, his voice sharp. It has to be, if he wants to even try to get the point across. “It’s because I’ve had to deal with those people for a whole decade, and I’m sick of it. I’m sick of everything they’re going to pull at this Summit and all the speeches they’re going to make because it’ll be the same horseshit that they’ve been spouting for years. It’s just going to be one more year of the same thing, over and over, just in a few different words. And you know what? I’m sick of the fact that not _once_ have they ever mentioned you. Not Gabrielle, or... or, hell, _me._ No one ever expected me to thank you, or mention you. No one asked you to speak. And yeah! I’m kind of pissed about it!”   
  
He knows that he’s taken Gabe by surprise in the way the man reels back an inch, eyes widening just a fraction. But it doesn’t last long. Gabe’s back in his face in a second, gritting his teeth. “And it took you ten years to get pissed about it? _Christ,_ Jack, you’re really on top of things,” Gabe says, _snarls._ He’s a pot boiling over, water spilling on flame and making it rise rather than dousing it. “Good to know you’ve just been chomping at the bit to stick up for me. Real fuckin’ friendly of you.”   
  
That stings, and Jack tries his best not to show it. “I’ve stood up for you before,” Jack snaps back. He can feel his heart rate rising until he can actually feel his pulse in his head. “Over and over. More times than I think you know.”   
  
Gabe his on his feet in an instant, glaring down at Jack with uncontained fury in his eyes like embers brought back up to full flame. “I’m _sure_ ,” he retaliates, his voice gaining an edge that Jack can only describe as ‘dangerous’. “You know what I get from all this, boy scout? I get that you’re all fuckin’ high and mighty in your tower and you’ve got all the shit you could have ever wished for. So much so that you can’t see anything down at the bottom, down where _my_ people work. You could give less than a shit about us.” _About me_ goes unsaid, but Jack catches it all the same. “You act like just because you’re the head of all this, because people _like_ you, you just get to say whatever you want and no one’ll blame you. And that’s bullshit.”   
  
And Jack is on his feet as well, and the space between them is gone. He’s up in Gabe’s space, shouldering his way in without hesitance. “You have a lot of nerve, Gabe. You have no idea what I might have _wished_ for, or what I have, or what I want.”   
  
Gabe sneers at him, not backing down in the least. “Yeah, _guero?_ Overwatch gets its pretty poster boy, gives him everything he could possibly want, and then spoils him so much that he thinks he’s got the right to complain about it. Isn’t that just typical?” The bitterness is tangible, sharp and painful like thorns barbing every word. And their sting is residual, biting into Jack’s very core.   
  
But all it really serves to do is fan the flames of his own anger, and without thinking, he wrenches his hand into the front of Gabe’s shirt, twisting it and yanking the man closer. “You don’t know _anything_ about me, Gabe,” he says, voice low and dark and sharp. “Not anymore.”   
  
He watches Gabe look from his eyes down to the hand in his shirt, and then Gabe’s hand is on Jack’s wrist, his grip mercilessly tight. Jack can feel the callouses on his fingers, some unfamiliar. “You let go of me right now or I’m breaking your hand,” Gabe threatens, his tone deceptively calm. Jack doesn’t give, and Gabe’s grip gets tighter.   
  
The second Jack feels a strain in the bones of his wrist, he bursts into action. He twists himself halfway, using the leverage of his elbow to try to break the grip. But Gabe seems to anticipate this, or at least to anticipate that there would be a reaction at all. Naturally, he takes an underhanded approach, in the form of grabbing Jack’s other arm with his opposite hand while attempting to knee him in the gut. His knee makes contact just under Jack’s diaphragm, just short of knocking the wind out of him. Jack grits his teeth against the pain that blossoms in his abdomen, and tries to twist out of Gabe’s grip again by throwing his weight against him.   
  
Gabe pushes where Jack pulls, setting both of them off balance. But Jack knows exactly what tactic Gabe is trying to pull, where he would use the momentum of their fall to essentially roll over the top of Jack. Jack turns just enough to fall on his back, but angles himself so that his foot delivers the firmest kick he can manage to Gabe’s chest. He doesn’t know what part he actually kicks, but he does know that it knocks Gabe off balance as well, sending him to the floor. Like hell that’s going to end their fight, as Gabe pounces on him within seconds, seemingly unperturbed by any damage sustained. He manages to straddle Jack’s waist, one hand going to Jack’s neck while the other aims for one of his wrists.   
  
They do all of this at the speed that only super soldiers can manage. It happens in the space of seconds, hardly a minute. To anyone else, it might just seem like a blur of movements until the two of them are on the ground, struggling against each other.   
  
Jack twists violently, but Gabe presses one knee against Jack’s hip, pinning him down hard, to the point that Jack offers one spare thought to the state of his pelvis. And then Gabe seems to abandon grabbing Jack’s wrist in favor of punching him square in the jaw. It’s enough to make Jack’s teeth clack together and for tiny black dots to flood his vision before blinking out one at a time. He fights to gather his wits back and make use of the short moment that both of his hands are free to return the favor in spades.   
  
He hits Gabe in the cheek with one fist, and then the opposite side in the jaw with the other, effectively jerking Gabe’s head back and forth. Gabe quickly shakes it off and presses down hard on Jack’s throat, cutting off his air.   
  
All in all, punching him with both hands was kind of a bad tactic, as it didn’t leave him anything to protect his neck. The one thing he has in his favor is how long he can go without breathing. He mindfully doesn’t struggle for air and lessen what little he has. Instead, he uses his hands to grip onto Gabe’s wrists, ready to break them if he has to.   
  
“You think I don’t fuckin’ know?” Gabe snarls, pressing down hard. “If I don’t, it’s your own goddamn fault, Morrison. You couldn’t get off from on high to even so much as _look_ at me.” There’s a fresh agony in his voice; a scab peeled away, revealing a bloody wound underneath. “You couldn’t spend the time to talk to me or connect or what ever the hell they always talk about with all that communication bullshit.”   
  
Jack feels his lungs start to burn, but he can’t bring himself to just snap Gabe’s wrists and finish this quickly. He just lays there, staring up at Gabe while Gabe seethes above him, his eyes bloodshot and his jaw firmly set.   
  
“If you think this is something you can fix with a _speech,_ you’re dead wrong. You can’t fix this just by wanting it to get better. This isn’t some Overwatch rescue mission,” Gabe says. His breaths are coming in heavy now, like he’s just a second off from hyperventilating. “You don’t get to fuckin’ pretend this all gets better because Strike Commander Morrison thinks it should be. You don’t get to--” Gabe’s voice breaks, cuts itself off halfway through his sentence as if he just manages to keep it from turning into a sob.   
  
And that hurts far more than anything Jack’s physically feeling. He just strains under Gabe’s grip, knowing there’s going to be bruises on his neck by morning, if Gabe lets up at all. He wants to say something, but Gabe’s cut him off in more than one way.   
  
“You got _everything,_ ” Gabe finally says, and it sounds like he rips that sentence from somewhere deep and forbidden inside of him. He sounds desperate and pleading, and it’s a question as much as a statement. “You got everything you could have ever fuckin’ wanted and now you think you can just walk away from _this._ ” He accentuates the last word with a harder press to Jack’s neck, cutting off any noise Jack could have possibly made.   
  
God, it’s the _least_ Jack deserves. That realization comes with a weird kind of clarity, and it moves into him at the same time that black starts to edge his vision. Clarity riding on the edge of unconsciousness; one last desperate move from his brain and his body in an attempt to save him.   
  
Gabe should have been strike commander. Jack’s always known that. He should have sat at the head of the table every time, should have been up at the podium for every speech. He should have done all of this in the way he actually deserved, in a way that Jack practically stole from him. All because Gabe didn’t fit the type that they wanted, because Jack looked better on screen, because he cut the figure that they wanted and he was the right shade. And of course he blames Jack for it. Jack didn’t walk away from the offer, even though he should have.   
  
Jack would have blamed himself. He already does.   
  
Gabe’s chest is heaving now, and his breaths have turned into half-sobs. “You...” He tries to push harder on Jack’s throat, but it’s just a slow pulse of movement. Jack’s hands fall to his sides, his energy already spent. “You got all this. All of it. And I just...” His words are tripping out of his mouth, anger giving way to doubt, and then to sadness. His eyes flick up to Jack’s face, anger and uncertainty and fear and sadness all in communion in his expression.   
  
That window of time trained and injected into Jack that can save his life during an asphyxiation situation is quickly closing. Unconsciousness begins to spread, dousing the burn in his lungs and easing the rapidfire hammering of his heart. It crawls in cold over all his edges, draining sensation from his limbs and working its way inward. He starts to close his eyes, waiting for it, for the inevitability of _something_ , be it just lack of consciousness or Gabe finally killing him. His thoughts move slow in his head, flowing like a slow moving crawl of water from one point to another.   
  
_I deserve this._ _  
_ _  
_ _He deserved better._ _  
_ _  
_ _He needed me and I wasn’t there._   
  
He just manages to hear something, but it sounds like it’s on another floor of the hotel entirely, distant and muffled to the point of unintelligibility. And then, the pressure is off his neck. It takes him a second to remember how to breathe, or having the realization that he can breathe at all. There’s another sound, louder this time, and it’s enough to jerk Jack back into something like consciousness, with the white and blue of the room flooding back into his vision just as he manages to breathe in.   
  
At first, it’s a labored, shaking breath, just barely drawing in what he needs. And then, he breathes in deep, practically choking on it. His lungs burn anew like a rekindled flame, and his brain goes through an electrical storm of activity, bring him back to the hotel room and to Gabe still sitting on top of him.   
  
Gabe’s hands are hovering near Jack’s shoulders, as unsure as he looks. It takes a moment longer to realize that the sound Jack’s been hearing is Gabe calling his name. Gabe says it again, brows furrowed, and then his hands _are_ on Jack’s shoulders, a surprisingly gentle pressure rather than the crushing weight that was on his throat. Jack blinks slowly, tries to summon words, but they fall short in his throat.   
  
“Christ, Jack,” Gabe breathes. The more that Jack’s senses come back to him, the more he starts to see that Gabe looks authentically panicked. “I didn’t-- _Shit_ , I thought you’d fight back.”   
  
Jack blinks again, and tries to clear his throat. He can’t, though. At least, there’s nothing there that can be cleared away. But his breathing is normalizing, and his enhanced cells are already healing him in impossible time. “Gabe,” he just manages to say. One of his hands finally moves, rises, and rests on Gabe’s cheek, thumb over one sharp cheekbone.   
  
Gabe searches Jack, but he doesn’t seem to come to any conclusion about what he sees. He just grimaces and stares at him and doesn’t move a muscle. His eyes keep searching, flickering right and left and up and down. One of his hands goes back to Jack’s throat, but his fingers just trail over his skin, and Jack can feel all the callouses and the radiating warmth. Jack doesn’t flinch away from it.   
  
It’s a slow and steady thing, Gabe’s head lowering, his entirety filling Jack’s vision until he can’t see anything of the room anymore. There are fingers on his neck, gentle and seeking forgiveness, and there are fingers on the side of his face, tracing old scars and ridges and curves like he’s following a familiar map.   
  
And then Gabe is kissing him, and it just feels like most natural progression of events somehow. It’s like there is no passage of time between things, no blur of a moment between not kissing and kissing. His lips are just there, pressing gentle and warm to Jack’s. Jack can feel the ridges on his lips, the dry spots where they’re chapped from the ocean wind off the bay, the faint scarring, the warmth radiating from him. He swears he can feel Gabe’s heartbeat, or maybe it’s his own, hammering so hard within him that he feels it like a second heartbeat. His hand drifts from Gabe’s face to his chest, over his heart, his fingers just barely digging in to the soft material of Gabe’s sweater like he intends to go right through the fabric, his skin, his bones, down to his core.   
  
None of it makes sense, and yet it all does. They fought, and Jack feels like he’s earned every bruise. They’ve already been through so much, and Gabe’s right to be angry about it. But they’ve also earned this strange, conflicting, all-encompassing love that just sort of fits in the narrative. All the fighting, all the rage, all the feelings of betrayal and being left behind, and then just _this._ This weird, warm, fluttering thing hovering between them, the unspoken ghost that’s been in the room with them since day one. Now, it’s spoken for, and Jack almost has to revel in it. Because it’s their brand of love, and it feels wonderful and painful and _right._   
  
Gabe kisses him harder, the hand on Jack’s neck moving up a rough line so that it rests on the back of Jack’s head. His other hand goes up under Jack’s shirt, over crevasses of well-defined muscle and scar tissue, up and up and up until he caresses every line and dip on his torso.   
  
Jack only has time to think of the word _here_ before he grips the front of Gabe’s sweater with both hands and manages to push him away an inch.   
  
Their eyes are half-lidded, deep, warm brown meeting dusky blue, their lips parted and shining and bruised, and Jack has to spare a moment just to reel his mind back in and pull air back into his lungs. “ _Bed,_ ” he manages. His voice sounds raw to his own ears, and apparently to Gabe’s as well, as Gabe just nods once before pushing Jack back down to the floor and kissing him like his life hinges on that moment.   
  
How they manage to get from the floor to the bed is a mystery in itself, like that lack of time between fighting and kissing. It just seems to happen, with some struggle as they maneuver themselves upright without separating. All Jack registers is Gabe’s hands on him, on his neck, on his face, up under his shirt, running along the hem of his pants. His hands push and pull, steering him to the bed until they fall on it. Jack doesn’t even open his eyes to see if the lights are on or off in the bedroom. All he knows is that Gabe is there, kissing him harder still, insistent and desperate.   
  
Gabe kisses a trail down Jack’s jaw and onto his neck, over the bruises yet to form. It’s an apology again, a repeated plea for forgiveness. Jack expresses it by running his hands through the dark curls of Gabe’s hair, down to the close shaved short hairs of his undercut. He scrapes his short nails over Gabe’s scalp, earning a low, pleased groan that vibrates against Jack’s throat. Jack obliges and tilts his head back, and he thinks of things like wolves and vulnerability, that he’s baring his neck to the very man who could earn Jack’s death. He does it, and it feels almost cleansing in its own strange way, like a relief to a burden he didn’t know he had.   
  
“Cariño,” Gabe whispers against Jack’s skin, and the word and sensation of it being spoken send a thrill through Jack that he hasn’t felt for a long time.   
  
His hand stays on the back of Gabe’s head, and Jack tilts his head down to kiss Gabe fully.   
  
This was a long time coming, he thinks. And only fitting that it starts and ends like this, after every battle they’ve fought together, and the smaller, personal ones that they’ve fought against each other; the thing that rested between them the entire time is suitably ignited by another battle. He thinks of SEP, of watching Gabe fight against the other candidates like he was fighting the entire world. He thinks of Gabe so desperately trying to prove himself against people who probably expected him to fail. And there’s a weird, warm flare of pride inside of Jack when he thinks of how Gabe dismantled their expectations and rebuilt them with a slot made for higher bar. So when Jack thinks of what they’ve earned, all he can imagine is that Gabe is something earned, like there could have been no one else for him but Gabe.   
  
He wishes he knew what went through Gabe’s mind, the thoughts that race through him as his hands move over Jack’s chest, lower and lower to the bottom hem of his shirt, and then up to pull his shirt over his head. The curiosity is deep, watching that determined flare in Gabe’s eyes and the set of his jaw, like this is another thing he wants to succeed at.   
  
Gabe is on top of him, throwing Jack’s shirt off the side of the bed and then looking down at Jack like he’s triumphed. Jack just gazes up at him, in the half-darkness between the midnight sun’s night outside and the pale lighting of the living room. The light plays with Gabe’s appearance, making every line in his face just that much sharper, drawing out the perfect construction of him. Jack can’t resist reaching up and touching him, pulling him down by the back of the neck so they kiss again.   
  
When they separate after a second, already breathless, Jack keeps close, one thumb going up under Gabe’s lip and then gently running along its width. “What are you thinking about?” Jack finally asks.   
  
Gabe looks at him, his mouth slightly parted, his brows furrowed in confusion. Then, he manages a slight smile and reaches up to Jack’s hair, stroking it like he’s rewarding him. “How weird this is,” he says, and there’s the barest edge of a laugh in his words. “I nearly killed you and now we’re making out in your bedroom.”   
  
“Seems about right for us,” Jack replies, and Gabe shuts him up by kissing him again.   
  
The kiss is open-mouthed and _powerful_ , if Jack had to pick a word. Gabe seems to pour his entirety into it, running his tongue against Jack’s, breathing into him, sharing this essence between them that feels raw and like liquid electricity. Jack realizes how desperately he wants Gabe in that moment, how the world could end all fire and ice and everything in between and Jack would be completely content with that as long as he and Gabe were like this. He doesn’t want anything to get between them, and the want is so magnetically strong that it almost scares him.   
  
All these years of tiptoeing around each other, fostering anger and jealousy and rage, and all it did was hold this moment back.   
  
He doesn’t want that to happen twice. He wants Gabe; every molecule and atom, every double-stranded helix and bit of genetic code that makes Gabe who he is. Jack wants all of it for himself, in a way that transcends selfishness or greed. It’s something more like survival, like Gabe is vital to Jack. Jack can only wonder if Gabe even feels one iota of the same way. But the way Gabe kisses him and holds him makes Jack think that maybe their desires aren’t so different.   
  
He wants to ask what Gabe’s thinking again, but his lungs feel robbed of all their air, his words stolen right from his mouth. And he thinks that maybe that’s right, because a moment like this doesn’t need words.   
  
Gabe takes off his own shirt next, throwing it somewhere over his shoulder. Jack sees every scar then, cast in that moonlight shade from the lamps in the next room. They show up like brass in the light, shining and raised and metallic. Jack can’t help but run his fingers over them, marveling in the intricacy carved out by pain and struggle. There are curves and slashes and circles. There are telltale starbursts of bullets, wavering heat-like lines of pulse ammunition, and wounds that Jack can’t read. Blackwatch’s history is written on Gabe’s skin, like ancient hieroglyphs reading in symbols rather than words.   
  
“Gonna make me blush if you keep lookin’ at me like that,” Gabe mutters, watching Jack trace a burn scar across his right upper quadrant.   
  
“Can’t help it,” Jack replies quietly. He sees four identical parallel slashes along the hem of Gabe’s fatigue pants, just above his right hip. “What were these?”   
  
Gabe glances down and sighs, turning so his weight is supported on his left elbow so his right hand can brush over Jack’s fingers and the scars. “Talon operative,” he says. “Had some glove with metal tips on it. He got me just right.”   
  
“Under the kevlar?”   
  
“Mhmm. He fought dirty.”   
  
Jack can’t imagine. Gabe’s always been such a spectacular fighter, beyond skilled at defending himself. And then there’s this strange, low-setting guilt that forms within Jack, thinking that he’s been the one giving orders and assigning missions that have injured Gabe. It’s by Jack’s word that Gabe has to fight Talon at all, to face off against people like the operative that clawed him.   
  
Gabe hums low in his throat, sounding frustrated. “You’re thinking too hard,” he says, and his hand moves away from the scar to the back of Jack’s hand, closing over it. Then, he moves their hands up to Jack’s chest, clasping right over his sternum.   
  
They sit in silence for awhile like that, looking at each other. Jack feels like a whole conversation passes between them in that space of time, like it did years ago. It’s something like _we’re okay, this is okay, we’re going to be fine, we’ve made it this far._ It doesn’t escape Jack that their hands are over one of his most pronounced scars, a surgical one that lances down his chest from when they were in the SEP. It’s one that they share, the same mark in the same spot. Jack always considered it like a badge of honor, a sign of survival in an ordeal that they weren’t guaranteed to make it out of. His eyes drift to the matching one on Gabe’s chest, just as faint as his own, and he can’t help the small smile that comes over him.   
  
He doesn’t have to say anything about it. Gabe doesn’t either, but it’s clear enough on his face that he’s thinking the same thing. Instead, Gabe leans in and kisses Jack again, gentler this time, less like he’s trying to initiate something. “Hey,” he whispers against Jack’s lips.   
  
Jack hums against him, keeping his grip on Gabe’s hand tight.   
  
Their kisses are long and slow now, methodical and dreamy in a surreal sense. It’s late enough in the night and Jack’s day has been long. All of the adrenaline from their fight has drifted out of him, and he’s content to settle into the bed with Gabe. Gabe eventually lets go of Jack’s hand to drift down his abdomen, over scars and muscle, to the hem of his pants.   
  
“Really?” Jack murmurs with a grin. “You still wanna do this?”   
  
“I didn’t haul you in here to neck like a teenager,” Gabe replies, tugging at the waistline. “Romantic as that is.”   
  
Jack laughs softly and helps him pull his pants off. They go on the floor with everything else, and after a few more insistent tugs, his boxers are on the floor as well.   
  
Jack stifles a moan when Gabe’s hand wraps around his half-hard cock. He draws in a deep breath and lets it out slowly while Gabe kisses at his neck and jaw. Much of the fire they had before is quelled for the moment, but Jack can feel it start to be rekindled inside of him. He tilts his head back against the pillows and allows his eyes to close, savoring every sensation that works through his nerves. Gabe’s hand is warm and calloused, and nothing Jack has ever felt before, even with his own hand. It’s different with Gabe, and Jack relishes in every detail.   
  
Gabe’s had practice. That much is obvious. He pumps Jack’s cock slowly at first to work it to hardness, and then he twists his hand a little and tightens his grip just enough that it’s not uncomfortable. Jack breathes in deep again, and lets it out with a shudder. It feels good in a way he didn’t expect, not like in the videos he’s seen where the man is thrashing around like he’s being tortured, and he’s not going to grunt and yell like he’s possessed. He feels no need to do that, but Gabe is definitely drawing sounds out of him that he wouldn’t have made otherwise.   
  
His moans are all under his breath, soft and strained. Gabe grins against his skin at this and pumps his hand a little faster. “You don’t have to be a beacon of self-control here, Commander Morrison,” he teases, and Jack feels Gabe’s thumb press and rub insistently under the head of his cock. Jack twitches involuntarily and moans, bringing arm up so his wrist covers his mouth.   
  
It’s in his nature to be restrained, but he feels that he somehow owes it to Gabe not to be. He does arch a little off the bed, but Gabe’s weight on one side of him makes it so that he arches _into_ Gabe, their chests pressed together. Jack stays like that, his breathing becoming more labored. He rests the side of his head on Gabe’s arm, and can only clench his eyes shut when a particularly pleasurable wave goes through him. He doesn’t get much louder, though, but he clings to Gabe like the man is his sole lifeline. At this point, he very well could be.   
  
Gabe leans his head down and kisses the side of Jack’s head, and he starts muttering something in Spanish, his voice low and husky. He speaks naturally, too fast for Jack to translate, but Jack closes his eyes and listens anyway, following the trail of Gabe’s voice. It’s almost meditative, between his speech, all deep and nearly gentle, practically musical, and the insistent repetitive motion of his hand. His pace quickens there, and when Jack lets out a louder moan, Gabe says something that sounds almost _proud._ Jack might not know exactly what he’s saying, but he can tell that Gabe is urging him on, asking him to be louder, to let himself go.   
  
Jack tries to do exactly that. Heat starts to pool between his legs and he shudders again. He’s pressed even closer to Gabe, as if it could be possible. He can hear his own heartbeat in his head, can feel the constriction of his arteries, and his brain starts to go through this electrical synaptic wonder show as he nears his orgasm. It’s nothing he’s used to, as much as he’s jacked himself off before. Usually, his orgasms seem so seamless and nothing particularly special. This one, however, is like something out of the books.   
  
He can’t tell what it is, if it’s something left over from Gabe’s stranglehold on him before, making his brain go through a wild round of acrobatics like it’s still working through oxygen deprivation. Or if it’s just the whole situation, with their fight still lingering just under Jack’s skin, and the sensation of finally having a piece of him put into place without ever knowing it was missing at all. What ever it is, it burns through Jack like a lit fuse, following a trail up and up into some concealed part of him, a pleasure center beyond anything he’s ever reached with his own hands.   
  
Gabe twists his hand again, and lowers his head so his lips are against Jack’s ear. He whispers something low and wonderful, and he finishes it with, “Querido,” which Jack _does_ understand. His heart feels like it grows in size, and he turns his head to kiss Gabe hard when he finally comes.   
  
His orgasm goes through him like a livewire, like a dynamite keg finally ignited, like everything beautiful and glorious in the world happens all at once inside of him and he’s full of sated happiness and nothing but raw _love_ for the man who brought him to this point. He kisses Gabe in between trying to catch his breath, like Gabe is his sole oxygen source, and Gabe obliges him while his hand hovers above Jack’s hip.   
  
Finally, Jack does have to roll onto his back, his chest heaving and his heart still trying to bring itself back to a normal rate. Gabe just grins at him, half-content and half-amused. “That good, huh?”   
  
Jack doesn’t even have it in him to say something clever. He just nods wordlessly while Gabe gets up and goes into the adjoining bathroom. Jack hears the sink run for a few seconds before Gabe walks back in, wiping his hand on his pants. He lays back down next to Jack, slotting himself right beside him like they’re hinged together.   
  
An idle thought passes through Jack that he should return the favor somehow, that Gabe didn’t get off and that doesn’t seem fair. The afterglow of it all is still settling on him like sunlight on his skin, and he has to force one of his hands to move up to Gabe’s hip. Gabe grunts and opens one eye, looking at Jack in amusement. “Hmm?”   
  
“I need to...” Jack trails off, hooking his index finger over the hem. “You didn’t get to... you know.”   
  
“You didn’t jerk me off, is what you’re trying to say, boy scout,” Gabe mutters, more to the pillow than to Jack. Then, he sighs, grins, and shakes his head. “Save it for morning.”   
  
“But--”   
  
“Roll over and tell me what time it is.”   
  
Jack does, glancing over his shoulder to the alarm clock on the end table beside them. “Oh. Three fifteen.”   
  
“Mhmm.”   
  
Jack’s brow furrows, and he keeps his hand on Gabe’s hip. “That doesn’t seem fair, though.”   
  
Gabe hums again, and moves one hand to cover Jack’s again. “What time is the first talk tomorrow?”   
  
“Noon.”   
  
There’s a low rumble of laughter and Gabe finally tilts his head up enough to press a kiss Jack’s lips. It’s comparatively innocent, like he hasn’t just spent nearly a half hour getting Jack off like the world would have ended if he didn’t. “If we get up at like, eight, then we have a few hours to ourselves, yeah?”   
  
They’ve managed to sleep way less and get more done than just a few peace talks and photo ops. Jack smiles at the thought. “You up for four hours of that?”   
  
“I’m an army guy still. I like my schedules.”   
  
Jack just shakes his head and kisses Gabe again. He moves his arm so that it drapes over Gabe’s waist, and then he pulls himself closer so that they’re comfortably pressed together. Then, he manages a short, tired laugh as the exhaustion really starts to sink in. “Hopefully this doesn’t become a thing. Trying to kill each other and then having sex afterward,” he says, and he feels Gabe laugh.   
  
“That’s the best kind of sex, though,” Gabe replies.   
  
“Not tomorrow, at least. Can we hold off on choking each other out that long?”   
  
“Mmm, you drive a hard bargain, Morrison,” Gabe says. He trails the back of one hand up Jack’s chest to the surgical scar. “I’ll try my best, though. We’ll save the strangulation kink for when we’re back stateside.”   
  
“Deal.”   
  
After that, the only thing they can manage is this long, lazy kissing, until Gabe’s breathing gets deeper and steadier, and Jack sees the faintest sliver of light of the midnight sun rising just past the drawn curtains. He falls asleep, watching the pale light of the Icelandic sunrise, and feeling Gabe’s heart beat against his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](radiojamming.tumblr.com)
> 
> I write minifics all the time. I also cry a lot. It's gr8.


End file.
